


I'll Show You How

by sempervera



Series: Everyone knows that a god protects drunkards and lovers, A Musketeers collection. [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Athos decides to teach him, Gen, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Pre-Slash, Tumblr Prompt, d'Artagnan can't read or write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:45:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sempervera/pseuds/sempervera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on <a href="http://raouldehadleyfraser.tumblr.com/post/78935894675/thebatwiggler-raouldehadleyfraser">this amazing prompt</a> by thebatwiggler and raouldehadleyfraser (JEAikman).</p><p>D'Artagnan can't read or write, but manages to keep his secret hidden, until the Cardinal finds out during a meeting and mocks him in front of his three favorite fellows. Athos, ever the noble one, decides to teach the boy how to write and read, which (in my mind) can only end in one way.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reading

Not being able to read never really had been much of a problem for d’Artagnan, not until that moment. They had been all called in to the Cardinal’s office after they had managed to swap Cluzet with old Sarge. Trèville had assured him not a single one of his men would have ever said anything about what they knew, but Richelieu being Richelieu, he wanted to make sure to put some fear of god in them for good measure. It had happened when the Cardinal waved a document, the treaty with Savoy, and demanded that d’Artagnan read the consequences if the treaty were ever to be broken.

It had been then, that d’Artagnan had wanted to be swallowed by the wood pavement under his feet. Of course, he wasn’t proud he wasn’t able to tell between an official royal document from Constance grocery list, but he had managed to keep the knowledge of his ignorance to himself. Until that very moment. He tried to think of a way to get himself out of the situation, but the Cardinal preceded him, “What, can’t you _read_?”

He was still thinking of an excuse when Richelieu, ever the receptive one, gave him a knowing look, “You truly cannot read, can you?” he paused, “Dear Lord, Trèville might as well start using monkeys to do this business.”

The Gascon flushed of a worrying shade of red, feeling the heat in his cheek and his tongue, for once, wasn’t able to make any kind of retort or excuse. He simply stood there, red-faced, with an ashamed expression on his face, silently taking the Cardinal’s insults and avoiding to meet anyone’s eyes.

The cardinal was about to further add to the mockery of the young man, when Athos intervened, his firm voice breaking the silence, “I am sure the outcome of the broken treaty would be dreadful for France,” he took some steps forward, putting himself between the Cardinal and a petrified d’Artagnan, “Which is the reason why not a single word about this issue will ever come out from anyone of us. You have my word, your Eminence. Now,” he put back on his hat, “I think we may take our leave, Captain Trèville will surely be anxious to hear our report.” The Cardinal waved their dismissal and with a bow they all exited the room.

When they got back to the streets, heading towards the garrison, d’Artagnan regretted not having a hat like the other three, to hide beneath it and not having to face their sympathetic expressions. He settled for avoiding their eyes, fixing his eyes on a random point in front of him, and he kept on walking without saying a word. They had been walking in silence for a few minutes when Aramis tried to lighten the loaded silence, “Come on, you actually dodged a bullet there, that treaty was surely the most boring thing a man could ever have to read.”

 _Yeah, like I could ever read anything else,_ d’Artagnan thought, not feeling relieved by Aramis’s joke by one bit, quite the opposite actually. He felt like he was the joke, he felt like an incompetent child in the company of skilled and educated men, what was he even doing there? He shrugged at Aramis’s words, trying to keep himself together, not wanting to show how bothered he felt, not more than he already had anyway.

Porthos tried a different approach, coming from a different background than Aramis, one closer to d’Artagnan’s one, “There is nothing wrong with not being able to read properly, boy. It took me years to learn by myself, and I still falter from time to time.” If possible, Porthos’s words, made d’Artagnan feel even worse. Not only he wasn’t capable to read, he had also been so stupid not to try and fix his deficiency. Not able to take Athos’s pity words next, d’Artagnan mumbled some excuse about Constance and made a sudden turn for one of the alleys.

Aramis flung himself into the alley, trying to follow him, but Athos stopped him, “Let him go, he needs some time with himself.” The other man tried protesting but Athos looked at him with a convincing look, “Think about it ‘Mis, our presence only makes it worse for him.” Aramis hated when Athos was right, which happened quite frequently, so he let it go, frustrated for not being able to help the boy he had come to consider one of them. Naturally, nothing would have stopped Athos from helping the boy later, when he would have cooled off. They got back on the main street and headed together to the garrison.

D’Artagnan had actually circled back and went to the garrison, where he spent the rest of the day hiding in, finishing his chores struggling to remain unseen by his three companions. When the evening started falling he had almost finished, and was about to sneak out to head back to the Bonacieux residence, satisfied he had managed to avoid Porthos, Aramis and Athos. Unluckily for d’Artagnan, Athos was far more receptive than he thought, and had spotted him sneaking from the kitchen to the stables. The musketeer quickly took his leave, and silently followed the boy.

D’Artagnan was putting back the tools he used to take care of his ride, the last task of his day, when Athos joined him in the stables. The young Gascon felt the embarrassment come back like a crashing wave, making him stand there, mortified, waiting for Athos to reprimand him. The older man simply checked d’Artagnan’s horse, “Good job, he’s growing fond of you.” D’Artagnan nodded, still feeling the burning humiliation, made worse by Athos’s apparent nonchalance. He was about to ran out of there, and to hell with it, when Athos sighed and put a hand on one of his arms, “Dear Lord, stop looking like you got caught drowning kittens,” he stopped to look d’Artagnan in the eyes, “Join me for dinner?” The Gascon was about to decline, “I won’t say a word about this afternoon, I promise.” That got the boy to relax a little, he enjoyed Athos’s company after all, and he didn’t get nearly as much of it as he wanted, so he eventually agreed to join Athos in his lodgings for dinner.

Athos nodded and they both headed towards the musketeer’s apartment, without realizing two pairs of eyes were staring at them.

Aramis had a little knowing smile tugged on his lips, “Good old Athos, he’s helpless with that kid.” Porthos gruffly laughed, “Aren’t we all? When the Cardinal mocked d’Artagnan today, I was about to strangle him for ridiculing the boy.” They both kept on talking about how fast it took for all of them to get used to the presence of the young hothead and, when they eventually reached the point of discussing how Athos appeared to be the one that took to the boy the most, they decided to take the conversation somewhere where they could accompany it with some wine, no one of them wanted to approach _that_ discussion in their sober mind.

Athos and d’Artagnan had just finished the frugal meal they had been able to put together when the older of the two got up and headed towards the little room adjacent to the one they were in, to get some more wine d’Artagnan thought, so he settled himself more comfortably on the wooden chair, waiting for Athos to come back. When he did, d’Artagnan saw he had a small book in his hands, along with some ink and pen. He placed them in front of the young Gascon, a meaningful look on his face, and d’Artagnan understood what was going on, “No.”

Athos didn’t even give him the chance, “Open the book on its first page, we’ll start with the basis.” D’Artagnan tried to protest, “You said you wouldn’t talk about today,” a betrayed tone to his voice. Athos simply looked at him and, with a calm but firm voice, started talking, “I am not going to mock you or treat you like you’re an imbecile, not about this at least, but I am going to teach you how to write and read,” he paused before adding the rest of the little speech he wouldn’t ever admit he had prepared, “You’re smart, d’Artagnan, you just need a little practice. It’s nothing I don’t believe you’re most than capable of, trust me.”

The young Gascon stayed silent for a couple of minutes, in which Athos stayed perfectly still, not making a sound, he could see d’Artagnan’s dilemma unfolding and he didn’t want to interfere with the stream of thoughts that was going through the boy’s head. D’Artagnan finally sighed, and nodded, “Not a single word to _anyone_ about this, okay?” Athos felt a light sense of satisfaction and he nodded, “You have my word.” D’Artagnan trusted him, he knew that and he wouldn’t go back on the words hhe gave the boy, so he motioned towards the book still in front of him, “Open it, we’ll start with something easy tonight.”

D’Artagnan looked at the book like one would with the worst of his enemies, but eventually he picked it up and they started the first of many late nights together.

 

* * *

 

It had been three weeks since Athos had started teaching d’Artagnan how to read, and the boy was indeed making fast progress, as Athos had expected. Still, in the last few days they had moved from reading single words to actual complete sentences and Athos could see that d’Artagnan was getting frustrated with the sudden obstacle of integrating punctuation in his reading. Athos had begun by writing down the entire alphabet for d’Artagnan to memorize, which the boy had done pretty quickly, and then they had moved to Athos writing words and d’Artagnan reading them out loud. It had worked quite well, and Athos had decided to move from those to an actual book, a simple children book he had managed to get his hands on. Unfortunately, d’Artagnan didn’t seem to progress with that as fast as he had with the basics, which was hardly something to worry about in Athos’s opinion, but seemed to bother the boy quite a bit. He had had to scold him a few times the last time they had tried reading, d’Artagnan had started slacking off and Athos wasn’t about to let him drop their lessons just because of a more than understandable difficulty. Also, Athos had started quite enjoying the nights they spent together, he realized he didn’t need to drink when d’Artagnan was there, the stubborn Gascon was enough to keep him distracted; and he enjoyed when the boy finally ran out of focus after two or three hours and eventually started rambling about his youth in Gascony, it made Athos relax to hear him talk and sometimes he would risk to doze off just at the sound of the boy’s voice.

When he heard the knock on his door, Athos knew he should prepare himself not to strangle the kid, even if d’Artagnan would probably be a brat that night, considering he had given him an entire page to read by himself. Athos had to leave Paris for a few days, business for Trèville, so he had given the boy something more demanding to do while he had been gone. He was prepared to not hear the end of it, so he drew a long breath and went to open the door, not expecting D’Artagnan to look as he did.

The boy looked nothing short than exhausted, he had dark circles around his eyes, and looked extremely pale and tired. Athos gave him a second look, then asked, “What on earth happened to you while I was away?”

Contrarily to his looks, d’Artagnan looked excited, “Oh, that’s nothing, I just didn’t get much sleep these last nights,” Athos was about to interrupt him but the kid ignored him and continued, “but I think I actually managed to read the whole thing! Correctly!” The happiness in d’Artagnan was evident in the way he excitedly waved the page in his hands, and Athos couldn’t help but smile a little while he gestured for the boy to come in, “Come on then, let’s hear it.”

D’Artagnan nodded and sat on his usual chair, clearing his voice, while Athos took the other chair, sitting next to him. When they got settled in their usual positions, d’Artagnan opened his mouth and started reading, the concentration evident in the way he furrowed his brows and held the paper with more strength than needed. Still, he managed to read the entire page, which was a paragraph Athos had copied from the book, without stuttering or prompting. When he had finished, he turned to Athos with an hopeful expression on his face and asked, “Did I make any mistakes?”

Athos couldn’t help but feeling immensely proud of his little Gascon and the progress he had made, he looked at him and gave the boy one of his proudest smiles, “No, d’Artagnan,” he paused to appreciate the beautiful smile the boy made, “you didn’t.” 

D’Artagnan literally beamed, and he knew that a great part of it had to do with the bright smile Athos had given him. He almost hadn't slept while Athos was away, to keep on studying and showing it off to him at his return. He felt so happy he jumped to his feet making a victory noise. Athos was still smiling contently when he saw the boy falter a bit on his feet, that, added to Athos’s awareness of d’Artagnan being an idiot, and he immediately jumped to the conclusion, “Please tell me that you have eaten something.”

D’Artagnan had the decency to look a little guilty, “I ran here straight from the garrison,” he added an apologetic smile, hoping it would help. Athos rolled his eyes, “Come on, let’s eat something, before you faint like a maiden.” The Gascon tried protesting, but his stomach chose that exact moment to growl, effectively shutting him up. Athos shot him a knowing look, “Wait here, I’ll go get something from the tavern,” and with that he was out of the door.

D’Artagnan felt like an imbecile, standing smiling in Athos’s apartments, so he sat on the edge of the bed, more comfortable to his tired back than the wooden chairs, picked up the book the page he had read came from and started trying to read more, waiting for Athos to come back.

Athos had just walked up the stairs, holding a basket with some food and wine inside, and was about to get inside his lodgings when his eyes took in the scene he could see from the window and he stopped on his feet. D’Artagnan was curled up against the wall, on his bed, the book in his hands, a concentrated expression on his face and his boots forgotten on the floor. Athos felt a pleasant warmth spreading through his chest, and he stayed like that, enjoying the view, until d’Artagnan moved and he snapped back into himself, moving and getting into the apartment.

When d’Artagnan heard Athos come in, he suddenly jumped from the bed, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” suddenly he was at loss of words, not knowing what he was actually apologizing for. Thankfully Athos simply dismissed him waving his hand, “You were just resting, you didn’t steal my wine reserve, don’t worry.” He sat on the bed, motioning for d’Artagnan to go back to where he had been sitting, “I rode all afternoon, I could use the soft surface too,” he stated, getting the food out of the basket and passing some to d’Artagnan. The boy smiled and they sat there, eating and drinking in a relaxed silence, until d’Artagnan broke the stillness, “I think I figured out why I find it harder to read from the book,” a pensive look on his face. Athos nodded him to go on with the reasoning he evidently had in mind, d’Artagnan swallowed the food he was eating, “I think it has to do with your handwriting,” he paused to drink a bit of wine, “I think I find it easier to read than the book’s printed one.”

Athos really didn’t expected the reasoning to go in that direction, which was the reason why he felt a pleasant, yet surprising, feeling of satisfaction at the idea that his handwriting was the one that came easier to read for d’Artagnan. He concealed the real dimension of his satisfaction, but still nodded to the boy’s reasoning, “It’s probably because you learned to distinguish the letters from that paper I wrote you, it’ll come easier with time, you won’t probably even notice that much difference.” Yet, for some reason, Athos secretly wished that he wouldn’t.

D’Artagnan seemed satisfied with the explanation, and went on, telling Athos he had actually found the story interesting. Or at least, the little he had managed to make out from what little he had read of it. Athos grinned, he had chose the story of a brave soldier who had to rescue his loved one, he would have bet his own musket that d’Artagnan would have liked that sort of story.

They kept on talking until they ran out of food and d’Artagnan got up to put the leftovers of their meal on the little table they usually use to eat. Athos rested more comfortably on the bed, he got rid of his boots and laid the back against the wall. He must have looked tired, ‘cause when d’Artagnan turned, the boy gave him a strange look, “What?” D’Artagnan shook his head, cursing himself, “Nothing. I’ll let you rest,” he started putting his boots back on, but Athos stopped him, “Don’t you even try it, you still have to read something.” The boy protested, “I have! I read the entire page!” Athos shook his head, “You’ve read one paragraph, the original page has two,” he reached for the book and handed it to him, “Come on,” he said patting the spot d’Artagnan had been sitting on a few seconds before, “read the other one and you’re free to go.” D’Artagnan still wasn’t giving up, “Can’t we do that tomorrow?” he would have loved to lay next to Athos and read some more, but the thought of eventually having to get up and leave wasn’t even remotely as amusing. Athos shook his head, “You and Aramis are leaving for the country tomorrow, you’re to pick up a boy in some town out of Paris, you won’t be back for at least two days. I am way too tired to copy you another paragraph, and the last time one of my books was close to Aramis, it ended up on the bottom of a river.”

D’Artagnan was smiling amused, “And how did that happen?” Athos glared at him, “That is really not the point.” D’Artagnan sighed, “Seriously, I am exhausted, why don’t we,” he paused, an idea forming in his mind, “Why don’t _you_ read some?” Athos shot him a look, “Excuse me?” D’Artagnan was already nodding, “Yeah, I can follow your reading, I’ll stop you if I don’t recognize a word, and you can always ask me to continue, so you’ll be sure I am paying attention.”

Athos considered making him read the entire book just for the sake of making him stop having such idiotic ideas, but then again, he did make progress, he could probably follow Athos reading, given Athos would read at a slower pace than what he was used to. He sighed, “Okay, I’ll read you the next page,” he shot him a warning look, “If I catch you falling asleep I will send you polishing the entire buckles collection of the garrison, understood?” D’Artagnan nodded right away and headed for the wooden chairs, Athos stopped him, “Oh no, if I have to bother myself with reading to you, I will do so from the comfort of my own bed,” he settled more comfortably, “Come on, get here.”

D’Artagnan cursed himself, he already had a hard time trying not to behave like an infatuated boy around Athos, now he had to do so while sharing the same bed and laying one next to each other. Somewhere Aramis was laughing his ass off. D’Artagnan ignored the thought and went sitting next to Athos, suddenly very aware of his warm body.

Athos, completely oblivious of his effect on the boy as usual, started reading at a slow pace, his voice deep and d’Artagnan had to make an effort to keep his eyes open and not let himself drift off at the voice of the musketeer. When Athos stopped, having reached the end of the paragraph, d’Artagnan simply turned the page, in a silent request for more. They went on like that for a while, whenever d’Artagnan would get lost, he would stop Athos and follow the sentence with his finger, until he would understand it. He would then bump his shoulder against Athos’s, and the man would nod and continue reading. It didn’t take long for the candlelight to start diminishing, and for the two of them to eventually fell asleep without even realizing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I really didn't need to do much except to fill in the gaps in the prompt JEAikman and thebatwiggler created.  
> I wanted to write a short one shot, but ended up writing more than I expected and so I decided to split the thing into a "Athos teaches d'Art to read" part, a "Athos teaches d'Art to write" part and a last "open" part, depending on whether I decide to fulfill the last part of the prompt, or not.  
> Hope you've enjoyed it, it's unbeta'd and all that, so sorry for any mistake.  
> Cheers!


	2. Recess

The room was silent, except for the young man’s relaxed voice, his focus on the book in his hands. The candlelight was just enough to allow him to read, but the boy didn’t seem to care, evidently engrossed in the effort of reading. What had started as a one time occurrence, d’Artagnan being too tired and Athos reading to him out loud, eventually ended up becoming the routine. Every evening they’d spend in Athos’s lodgings, onw of the two would read out loud to the other. Sometimes d’Artagnan would splay himself on the bed, exhausted from the day’s chores, while Athos sat on on one of the chairs with a book in his hands.

Some other times, like tonight, d’Artagnan would sit on the floor, his back against the structure of Athos’s small bed, reading to the man laying on it. Athos enjoyed this scenario the most, he could relax and listen to d’Artagnan’s voice, randomly opening his eyes to help the boy out when he felt insecurity in his reading. He had started appreciating their evenings together more than he would want to admit: d’Artagnan’s presence had a soothing effect on him, the boy held his attention at all times, keeping Athos’s usual melancholy at bay. What Athos _could_ admit to himself was the pride he felt every time d’Artagnan went through a paragraph, or even a page, without a single stutter or pause.

It was a different feeling from the one he would experience on the training courtyard, while crossing blades with the boy. D’Artagnan’s skill with the sword was more than evident, just as evident as the need to shape that raw skill in the correct way. Nevertheless, some of d’Artagnan’s flaws had never been rectified and ended up becoming a constant part of his act: it took a collective effort from Athos, and both Aramis and Porthos, to strip them from the boy’s swordsmanship.

With reading, d’Artagnan was different, he was a clean slate: he hadn’t known the first thing about it and had trusted Athos to show him the way. It was a kind of trust Athos had sworn off, and allowed himself only with Aramis and Porthos. Still, it had took years for them to become the well-oiled mechanism they were now, and yet d’Artagnan seemed to haven’t had a single difficulty to slid himself into it, fitting like a missing gear. He had taken to Porthos’s rough but honest character, and had been the perfect end for Aramis’s jolly mockery and yet captivating charisma.

D’Artagnan chose that moment to interrupt Athos’s stream of thought, “Athos, what does this mean?” The musketeer opened his eyes and turned towards d’Artagnan, who was holding the book closer to him, pointing the line he couldn’t understand. Athos half sat himself and took a closer look to the phrase in question, “That’s Latin,” he took a pause to bring the translation back to memory, “It means ‘through hardships to the stars’.”

D’Artagnan remained silent, processing the information with a concentrated expression on his face. He eventually moved his stare and looked at Athos, “I like it.”

Athos couldn’t help but smile, “I would have bet my sword hand on that.”

D’Artagnan cocked an eyebrow at that, “Pardon me?”

Athos shot him back the same exact look he gave Aramis in front of the Armagnac barrels, “You do have a flair for the dramatic.”

D’Artagnan pretended to look affronted by the words, “Never!”

The older man stared at him, “How was it? ’Fight me or die on your knees’?” D’Artagnan’s face flushed an alarming shade of red at hearing his own words, the most embarrassed expression on his face, and he groaned, hiding his face in the book he was still holding.

“Kill me now?” Athos couldn’t help but laugh at the younger man’s words, “After all the effort I put into teaching you to read? Not happening.”

The musketeer lifted the book from d’Artagnan’s hands, who, in return, buried his face in the bed sheets. Athos set the book aside and patted d’Artagnan’s head, “There, there. At least you weren’t caught dangling from the window ledge of the Cardinal’s mistress.”

D’Artagnan’s eyes shot to Athos, “What?” The older man was about to answer when d’Artagnan interrupted him, “No, wait a second, I got this,” he paused for a second, “Aramis.”

Athos nodded and laughed, “Who else?”

D’Artagnan’s curiosity got the best of him, “Please, do tell the story.”

Athos sighed, “I wanted to start you on some writing today.”

D’Artagnan’s expression showed he was excited about the idea of learning to write, but it also gave away his tiredness. He gave Athos a pleading look and yawned, “I really am tired, can we do that tomorrow?” The puppy eyes he gave Athos could compete with the ones of a stray dog asking for food in the back alleys of Paris, or with Aramis’s very own. Athos sighed again.

“That pretty face won’t save you forever,” Athos laid back on the bed and started talking, without realizing two things: that d’Artagnan’s face blushed again, now redder than ever, and that he had started running his fingers through the boy’s hair.

D’Artagnan settled more comfortably on the bed’s side, trying not to move too much, lest it made Athos stop, and enjoyed the musketeer’s voice almost as much as the sensation of his fingers tracing patterns on his head. When Athos had finished telling the story d’Artagnan’s body was trembling while he tried containing the hilarity, and eventually he failed, bursting into fits of laughter.

Athos found himself staring at the boy, at his face, at his features, realizing that he found them nothing short of stunning. The way d’Artagnan lost himself in laughter was one of the most striking views he had ever saw. It wasn’t Porthos’s boisterous laugh, and it wasn’t Aramis’s merry chuckle: it was a genuine way of laughing, it was a child’s laughter.

Athos was fascinated by how d’Artagnan’s whole body was shaking in joy and he didn’t even think before tucking a stray bit of hair behind D’Artagnan’s ear. Athos went very still, a forgotten memory suddenly coming back to him, a memory of someone else’s dark hair splayed on his bed. He felt the color drain from his face, his body quickly growing cold, the desire for the known comfort of some warm wine was most urgent than ever.

Too distracted by the warm touch of Athos’s fingers, d’Artagnan didn’t pick up on the sudden distress of his friend. He got up, slowly stopping laughing, and took a look at the window, it was pitch dark outside, “I should really get going.”

Athos wanted to tell him to go, so he opened his mouth to tell d’Artagnan just that. Still, the word that came out was a different one, “Stay.”

D’Artagnan was about to decline, when he finally turned and saw the look on Athos’s face. He could see the abrupt anguish on the man, he wanted to ask him what was it, but then he remembered: he already knew. He had already seen those empty eyes on Athos, he remembered the night he got him out of the burning mansion in La Fère.

So d’Artagnan did the only thing he could think of, he sat back on the floor, picked up the book and started reading again. His pace was slow and serene, he rested his head against one of Athos’s legs, hoping the proximity would help the man calm himself.

D’Artagnan was turning the page for the fifth time when he felt Athos’s hand settling on one of his shoulder, squeezing it lightly, d’Artagnan continued reading. Page thirteen and he could hear Athos’s breath starting to become heavier and heavier. Page twenty-one and Athos had finally fell asleep. D’Artagnan slowly closed the book, reached for the candle and blew it off.

D’Artagnan settled his head more comfortably, his right cheek now touching the back of the hand Athos still had on his shoulder, and his voice was so faint that it might just have been the wind coming through the window, “It’ll get better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn finals are killing me.  
> Still, had to squeeze some time out to go on with my Musketeers stories!  
> As usual, I changed the original plan (which was already different original one, yay coherence) and decided to put this in between and melt the 'writing' and the 'open' chapter into the last one.  
> What else? Oh yeah, tonight's episode was nothing short of amazing.  
> Except for the shippers of a certain couple, sorry guys, you have all my sympathy and support.  
> Other than that: everything's Musketeers and nothing hurts.  
> Chapter is, as usual, unbeta'd and everything.  
> Any mistakes, point them out and I'll fix them.  
> Love you all, you beautiful people!  
> Cheers!


End file.
